


The Sorting Hat and the Locket

by susurrate



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 12:47:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29260734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/susurrate/pseuds/susurrate
Summary: Tom Riddle decides he must have the Founder's Artefacts as his horcruxes, and decides to make a deal to acquire them.aka In Which An Old Hat Falls In Love with a Bitchy Locket
Relationships: Sorting Hat / Slytherin's Locket
Comments: 11
Kudos: 7
Collections: Love Fest 2021





	The Sorting Hat and the Locket

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ravenslight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenslight/gifts).



> Dedicated to Ravenslight for the prompt "Sorting Hat x [inanimate object], Gimme crack treated seriously"  
> #LF2021 #TeamCass   
> #TeamAdam
> 
> Author's Note: Black Lives Matter and Trans Rights are Human Rights

“ _And thus, to successfully imbue an object with a soul-shard, it must be an item the caster has imprinted upon; only an object of deep personal attachment can become a vessel to the creation of a Horcrux.”_

This final instruction had been damning to Tom Riddle. He only had one item that he managed to form any type of connection to, and that had been his diary. Yes, it made an excellent Horcrux, but he was not such a fool that he could be satiated with trusting in only one security measure. He needed more.

The summer after sixth year, he went to Little Hangleton to learn about his mother’s family. Although bitterly disappointed with meeting his uncle Morfin, Tom would walk away with two treasures from his visit: revenge against the muggle Riddles, and the Gaunt family signet ring. 

A centuries old heirloom, the symbol of his magical heritage—the Gaunt ring was an excellent item of personal significance, and he was able to successfully convert it into his second Horcrux.

He needed _more._

It took a year for him to recognize where else he laid attachment, ironically on the day of his graduation: Hogwarts. Hogwarts was both how and where he developed his magical abilities. Hogwarts was the closest thing to a home he ever had. He would use the symbols of Hogwarts, the Founders Artefacts, as his Horcruxes. 

His mouth slit slowly across his face, his smile a wound, as he realized how simple it had been all along.

When Headmaster Dippet began his graduation day speech, Tom merged softly into shadow and exited the Great Hall. As Head Boy, he was granted the password to the Headmaster’s office, and so easily bypassed the gargoyle and swiftly went up the stairs.

He stood in the center of the Headmaster’s office, pausing to indulge in his own cleverness. His eyes roamed the shelves until he found what he was seeking. He strode, feeling inevitable, toward the Sorting Hat.

He put it on.

He felt the ancient fabric rustle across his scalp as the hat nestled atop his head. <Mmm,> the hat hummed inside his head, <Every autumn I get to peer inside the heads of First Years. Almost never have one of those children returned on their last day…>

<I am unlike other children,> Tom thought to the hat in response. 

<I know.> The hat wriggled down further, enjoying itself. <I know exactly what you are.>

<And you can do nothing about it,> Tom smirked as he thought his message. <Everything communicated or learned when you are inside someone’s mind is cursed confidential to you and only you. You can never tell anyone.>

The hat chuckled. <You know so little, child,> it began, immediately noticing the little yellow worm of doubt rising from the back of Tom’s mind, along with the colossal sour offense pouring all around. <It’s naïve of you to assume that notifying anyone would be my priority, after learning what you’ve become since we last met.>

Tom was genuinely surprised, which was not a reaction he experienced often. The hat chuckled again and purred, <You have made _two_ Horcruxes. You are remarkable.>

<I did not come for adulation,> Tom said brusquely. < _Hogwarts: A History_ annotates that you are capable of summoning the Founders Artefacts. I want them.>

<Mmm,> the hat hummed again, grinding low enough that its brim brushed the tops of Tom’s ears. <That’s certainly something I _could_ do. If the person’s need was great, and I deemed them…worthy.>

<You’re in my mind, so you’re aware of my predicament regarding suitable vessels. My need is great. And as you just called me remarkable, it’s clear that I’m worthy.>

<Not so fast,> the hat lilted. <I think my estimation of your worth would only rise high enough if you were to offer me something in return.>

Tom scoffed, <What could a hat possibly want as compensation?>

<I’m going to let you in on a little secret,> the Sorting Hat whispered into his deepest center. <I am a Horcrux.>

Tom’s spine stiffened. <…You’re a thousand years old,> he breathed in greedy reverence. <Who is your master?> The things Tom wanted to ask--

<You can either buy the name, or the Artefacts,> the hat admonished, knowing which the boy would choose. 

Tom grit his teeth in fury. If this fucking hat hadn’t been a Horcrux he would threaten to burn it to ash, but Tom didn’t want to eliminate the only tie to a man with such important knowledge. Not before consuming everything the man knew. <Very well,> Tom agreed clenchingly. <The Artefacts. What do you want for them?>

The message was so quiet Tom had to strain inside himself to catch each syllable. <A companion.>

After a lengthy silence, Tom spoke aloud in frustration, “I do not understand.”

<I will give you the Artefacts,> the hat breathed, <on the condition that once you’ve made them your Horcruxes, you gift one of them to me.> Tom snorted, finding the idea absurd, but before he could respond the hat continued. <I have not seen another of my kind in one thousand years. I am _lonely._ I will give you what you need, but only if you bestow a Horcrux for me to cherish as my companion. I can see each of the soul shards you have prepared—I want the one you call your most ‘damaged’, I want your pain, your vulnerability.> Tom flushed furiously that his weakness had been so clearly witnessed. He was about to impulsively refuse just to spite the impertinent hat when it intoned: <Do this, and I will protect it for the remainder of my immortality.>

Tom felt his pulse quicken at the potential. Drawling, he demanded, <And how would you offer to protect it? Sort it into Gryffindor?>

<You’ll place it inside me, and after seven days calibrating its magical frequency I can safely stow it within my Void.>

<Your Void…?>

<It’s a part of me. Think of it as a cargo bay. How do you think I pull the Artefacts? It’s not like your summoning spell where the item travels through physical distance. I’m attuned to the Artefacts magical signatures. When I tug on them, they disappear from their current locations and reappear in my Void. From my Void, I can produce them out of my whimsical fabric body, or I can return them to their originating positions. To protect my companion, I would simply keep it in my Void, _forever_. No one would be capable of accessing it. And not to worry about those first seven days – we are, after all, at the start of summer. I can guarantee that no one will disturb me until September first, and by then my little companion will be tucked away in my – _our_ Void.>

Tom realized this was the highest security he could possibly arrange. <Agreed,> Tom thought gruffly. <Do it now.> He removed the hat from his head and held it in front of him, waiting impatiently.

One by one, the hat produced all four Artefacts: Diadem, Cup, Locket, Sword.

“Make mine first,” the hat spoke aloud.

Tom gave a curt nod, staring at the treasures of Hogwarts. The most obvious connection to himself was the locket, which meant it would benefit greatest from the hat’s offer. He pressed his wand tip to his temple and recited the ritual, dragging the damaged soul shard (which clawed and fought to stay within), and successfully infused it into Slytherin’s Locket. The newfound contents of the locket rattled like a trapped cockroach. Tom allowed himself a genuine smile, pleased that it worked, and dropped it unceremoniously into the hat. The wizard continued to make his Horcruxes, ignoring the way the hat crouched itself tightly around its prize.

The hat beheld the locket and felt its silent screaming, felt its rage and agony and fear. <It will be all right, my dear one,> the hat crooned. <I know the pain of being forcibly exiled from what was once a part of you. But I promise you: this is a birth. You are not dying or dead, and you never will be. I will protect you.> The hat could feel the locket calm as it probed the hat’s insecurities. The hat chuckled at its clumsy first attempt to read minds. <How special that we share this talent. Go ahead, I won’t block you. You can read me.> The locket burrowed itself into the first concern it found, and gave a questioning vibration. <Yes, I am very old...that’s because I’m a Horcrux, like you.> The locket projected flash images of the hat as torn, battered, and limp. The hat chuckled. <You’re very clever, yes, I do worry that’s what I look like. You are a quick learner. I will teach you everything I know. Together, we will find your purpose. You will find peace…>

“The sword is Goblin silver,” Tom snarled.

“Mmm, yes,” the hat contentedly replied, snuggling the locket deep within. 

“That means it will imbibe any material that could make it stronger. I can’t attach my soul to this!” Before the hat could react, Tom reached in and yanked the locket away.

“ _No!_ ” the hat screamed. “Please! I’m sure I can find something else of Godric’s—”

“I only have use for the items that are known to symbolize Hogwarts. You can offer no replacement, you cannot complete our deal.” Tom thrust the hat back on the shelf and gathered his Horcruxes, leaving the useless sword on the floor. The locket swung from his fist, vibrating itself to swing closer to the hat.

“Wait! Stop! I’ll—I’ll tell you the name of my master!”

Tom paused. He stepped close to the hat and held the locket up, watching as the locket swung like a pendulum between him and the hat. Tom thought of the many humiliations he suffered having this damn hat invade his every thought, at age eleven and today. The power it had over him, the smug way it taunted him. Mostly, Tom thought of the way it had failed to produce four usable artefacts, and Tom blamed the frustration of needing to find a replacement on the hat. 

The boy said cruelly, “I’ll find your master myself.”


End file.
